


if you weren't so smart

by bananaquit



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: College Fiddauthor, M/M, fiddauthor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananaquit/pseuds/bananaquit
Summary: Ford realizes that not everything can be thought of as an experiment, especially not his roommate, who he's sure has to be beyond the realm of anything science has ever known.





	if you weren't so smart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inkblot9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblot9/gifts).



“If you weren’t so smart, I would’ve asked for a different roommate by now.”

The first time that sentence had been spoken by Stanford Pines, it was grumbled under his breath as he sat in his chair with his arms folded, brown eyes glaring angrily across the room at his new roommate. The few weeks he had known the southerner had proved to be some of the most difficult of his life. It wasn’t that he hated him, it was simply that the hillbilly had a habit of getting on his nerves. Still, there was something oddly fascinating about the other man that Ford couldn’t quite put into words. Though Fiddleford had proven himself to be more than a bit annoying, he’d also proved to be eccentric, quirky, interesting, and highly intelligent.

He was like a specimen that needed to be studied, Ford rationalized, even if he was a little dangerous and might irritate him sometimes. Unpredictable, yes, but that was what made him valuable as research material. His mind liked to see everything in scientific terms, even everyday life, which meant that emotions and people were no exception.

He remembered Fiddleford simply turning back to face him with a smug smirk. “Was that an actual compliment?” Fiddleford made an expression of fake surprise, raising his brows playfully.

Ford huffed. “It was an insult.”

Fiddleford smiled at him then, and Ford had felt something strange stir in his chest. He wasn’t sure why his heart skipped a beat when Fiddleford’s sparkling blue eyes had met his until much, much, later, but he would never forget the look in those stunning, captivating visionaries when he had spoken. “Sure it was, buddy.” Fiddleford had snickered, the corners of his mouth tugging upward to flash a grin. That was the moment he’d known that they were friends.

* * *

Since then, the expression had returned many times, though it varied in structure and the word “smart” was often swapped with a number of other adjectives. It came in a light, teasing tone, accompanied by small smiles and little physical touches ranging from poking his nose with a finger to nudging his arm to softly elbowing his side to gently punching his shoulder.

It became so common that Fiddleford had grown to expect it, much to Stanford’s frustration. After Fiddleford’s strange tapping and ham-boning had finally driven him insane one afternoon, he’d tackled the lankier man to the ground. Their wrestling match ended with Fiddleford trapped underneath him. “You’re damn lucky you’re so sma-”

Fiddleford gave a dismissive hand wave and cut him off. “Because if I weren’t, ‘ya would’ve asked for a different roommate by now. We know, we know.”

Ford grinned at him. “Jerk.”

Fiddleford smiled widely back. “Asshole.”

* * *

As the months passed, things grayed in Ford’s mind. His black-and-white mentality disappeared when he was around Fiddleford. The robotic way he moved through life vanished, replaced by a strange feeling that was warm and natural. Everything in the world was filtered through an analytical lens except for Fiddleford. All logic went out the window when he was involved. He didn’t see him as a science experiment anymore. He was beyond anything words could describe, too complicated to be within the realm of understanding.

Of course, that didn’t mean he got on Ford’s nerves any less.

“Will you _stop_ that? You’ve been playing that thing all day.” Ford grumbled on a Sunday evening, tapping his fingers on his desk and giving a sigh.

“You’re the one who made the “no banjo playing after eight” rule, Stanford.” Fiddleford replied, strumming his banjo and looking upside-down at his friend from where he lay on his back on his bed with his feet propped up against the wall. “That means I can play as long as I want to as long as it’s still before eight.” He stuck his tongue out.

Ford swiveled in his chair to face him and rubbed his brow. “Yes, but I assumed you’d have the common sense to play in moderation. Clearly, I misjudged you.”

In response, Fiddleford just began to strum a familiar tune. “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone!” he sang, a cheeky smile on his face. Ford groaned. Fiddleford let out a little yelp as his glasses slipped from his nose and quickly shot out a hand to snatch them before they could fall to the ground. He sat up and put them back on, looking at Ford and letting out a little giggle.

Ford rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “If you weren’t so cute, I would’ve asked for a different roommate by now.” he said affectionately, not even noticing the slip until it was too late.

Fiddleford stopped. “Did you just call me cute?”

Ford froze, only now realizing what had just come out of his mouth. He instinctively raised a hand to cover his face as his cheeks began to heat up. “N-no! I said… No! That’s-that’s ridiculous.” He laughed awkwardly, wishing he could disappear.

Fiddleford just gazed at him with a look that made Ford’s breath catch in his throat as warmth spread through his chest. “You’re adorable.” Fiddleford snickered, looking back down at his banjo and beginning to play again.

“I am not adorable.” Ford protested weakly, not sure if his feeble heart could keep beating for much longer.

“You just keep tellin’ yourself that, Ford.”

Ford turned around abruptly and put his back to Fiddleford. He grabbed a book and shoved his face in it to hide his blush and his big, stupid smile, hoping the pages might contain something that could describe this wonderful, horrible feeling. He would’ve given anything just to have a label for this bizarre sensation that made him so giddy that his arms and legs turned to jelly. He knew so much and yet so little. A whole lot of good his education did him now, when he needed it most. This was new territory, terrifying and beautiful all at once. He was falling apart now, his brain grasping at straws to try to find some fact to ground him, something solid, something real.

With a mix between fear and excitement, he found it, deep in the recesses of his brain where he never thought he’d have to go before. A final answer, certain, unavoidable. A word he’d tried to avoid thinking about for months now because of all the implications of admitting it. Maybe it was cliche, maybe it only meant bad things ahead, but it was all he had. He tried to put it back where he’d found it, but it was filling his head now, all he could think about.

The reason for all of this, he realized with both horror and happiness, was simple. Love.

“I’m going to the library.” Ford said, inhaling sharply before standing up.

“The library’s closed, Stanford.”

“Then I’m, uh, going to get coffee!”

“Long as you bring me back somethin’.”

“Will do!” Ford’s voice cracked as he grabbed his wallet and made his way quickly out the door.

Fiddleford chuckled to himself as he watched him leave. He strummed “Can’t Help Falling in Love” absentmindedly as he leaned back against the wall and exhaled, thoughts of Ford swirling inside his skull as he closed his eyes and patiently waited for his coffee.


End file.
